Bang. Werther plunged headfirst into the rubble Sabo had just crushed beneath him.
A moment ago, Werther had kicked Sabo away and left him badly wounded. Retribution had come rather quickly.
Werther sat up, his head swimming.
Everything around him was dark, and double images flickered across his vision. That punch had hit him hard.
After a moment, the double images vanished, and the red tint faded from his sight.
"Which bastard sucker-punched me?"
Werther staggered to his feet and brushed the dust from his head.
A trickle of blood ran down his forehead, leaving a dark red streak across his face.
Crack. Werther's pupils contracted at the sound, and he instinctively reached for the spot where he had been hit.
Several broken pieces of his mask fell into his hand.
A corner of the Crimson Regalia's mask had shattered.
It was the first time Werther had seen the Crimson Regalia break. The fragments in his palm turned into pale red mist, spread through the air, and vanished in an instant.
The damage could be repaired, but doing so would take considerable stamina, so Werther left it alone.
A dull, stabbing pain came from his cheek and chest, making him frown.
The wound on his cheek was new. The one on his chest was the burn Marco had given him; the recent blow had probably reopened it.
Though he had been sent flying, Werther had kept a firm grip on Intent Blood. It was instinct.
Boom. Werther kicked a large hole through the rubble and slowly walked out.
He looked toward Fujitora. Beside him stood a tall, white-haired old man.
"Garp?"
Werther could not understand why Garp would attack him from behind. That was nothing like him.
Then Werther noticed the trail of blood at his feet. Sabo had left